


Kids by the River

by chronicallyCritical



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, if them being each others' gay awakenings can be canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicallyCritical/pseuds/chronicallyCritical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hashirama could see that the kid had passion. He just wasn't using it right."</p><p>Hashirama and Madara's meeting could have been arranged by fate itself.</p><p>ABANDONED, SORRY</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rivals in Rock-Skipping

**Author's Note:**

> Hashirama and Madara's backstory was definitely one of my favorite parts (if not my absolute favorite part) of Naruto. I especially think their story reads a lot like a gay coming-of-age narrative, though I doubt it was intentional on Kishimoto's part. But...the forbidden friendship...the feeling of isolation from their families and the sensation that nobody else understands them but each other... It feels like Kishimoto wrote a gay allegory by accident.
> 
> This is pretty much canon-compliant timeline-wise, with the dialogue for some scenes taken verbatim from the manga.

Hashirama squinted through the trees at the figure in dark clothing next to the river. The kid couldn't have been far from his age, and though he was too far from him to see his expression, Hashirama could tell that he was frustrated. Hashirama watched him try to skip the rock another two times, another three times. He still couldn't get it across, and his movements became more and more impatient. Hashirama inched forward. While he knew he was quiet, Hashirama was surprised that the boy on the riverbank didn't notice him approaching.

The boy began to talk to himself. "This time," he promised, panting slightly, "I'll make sure it reaches the other shore."

Hashirama's stone skipped onto the river from behind him and all the way across. The boy turned quickly. Up close, Hashirama could see the sweat on his pale face and his messily-cut hair. His eyes were very black and, in that moment, suspicious. The boy didn't say anything, which Hashirama thought was fair enough. He decided to speak.

"You need to throw them with a little passion," he said. "That's the trick behind it." Hashirama could see that the kid had passion. He just wasn't using it right. Hashirama wouldn't have decided to step in if he couldn't tell that the boy should have been able to do it.

The other boy got angry at that, which Hashirama was expecting. "Duh! Like I didn't already know that. I could get it across just fine if I was really trying."

Hashirama repressed a laugh.

"Anyway," the boy added, "who the hell are you?"

Hashirama hadn't thought it through this far, but he decided to be as blunt as possible. "Hmm... Right now, you could say that I'm your rival in rock skipping." He smiled. "But I've already gotten mine to the other side!"

"That doesn't answer my question!" the kid retorted. "Who the hell are you?"

Hashirama scrolled through a list of fake names in his head, then ditched the idea entirely. A rival deserved to know his name. Part of it, at least. He suspected that the boy was also a shinobi, though he couldn't be absolutely sure. But he knew that if the other boy was a shinobi, he'd realize Hashirama was one too as soon as only one name was given.

"You can call me Hashirama. Probably best if I don't give you my family name."

He saw something in the kid's brain click. He knew. "Huh. Hashirama." The boy reached down to the riverbank to find another stone to throw. "Take a close look, 'cause this time it'll reach!"

Something about the boy's posture changed. Hashirama could see him holding the rock less like a stone to throw across a river and more like a shuriken. There were a few _plops_! as the stone nearly made it across, but it sank just an arm's reach from the far shore.

The kid paused for half a second, the weight of his failure clearly bearing down upon him. But he redirected his frustration quickly, craning his neck around to scream at Hashirama.

" _ASSHOLE!_ You stood behind me on purpose, didn't you?! It's _so obvious_ that you're trying to distract me!" Hashirama threw his hands up. The boy continued. "I can't even take a _leak_ if someone is near me! _That's_ how aware of my surroundings I am!" Accusatory fingers pointed at Hashirama.

 _I managed to sneak up on you just fine_ , Hashirama wanted to say. But he didn't want to make the boy even angrier quite yet. Instead, he felt a little wave of guilt wash over him.

"Forgive me..." What if he really had distracted the boy? What if it really was his fault? What if the boy really was sensitive and had even felt Hashirama's presence in the forest behind him and had thrown badly because of-

"Uhhh... No need to get all emotional and stuff..." He paused awkwardly, and his face softened. "I mean... I kind of have this bad habit of making excuses when I—"

"No need to explain," moaned Hashirama. "Your ego is just so big that you have a god complex..."

The boy snapped again. "Why you...I can't even tell if you're way too sensitive or just a smartass..."

Hashirama returned from his brief stint of guilt a stronger, more confident person, laughing loudly. "One thing you should be able to tell is... You're no match for me when it comes to rock skipping!"

"Keep gloating and we'll see how well you skip across this creek!" exclaimed the boy, jaw dropping in anger.

"Forgive me...I've clearly upset you...You can throw me across this creek to make up for it..." Oh no, he'd upset the kid again...What if this time was really the end? What if he'd just flushed away any chance of keeping this rival, this friend-to-be-no-more...What if he had ruined—

"Jeez, you don't need to cry about it…"

"I just hope...that I don't drown before I make it to the other...side..."

"Man, you're pissing me off!" hissed the kid.

"If you say so..." Hashirama hung his head.

"Hold on!" exclaimed the other boy as Hashirama began to shuffle away.

Hashirama, having made an astonishing recovery, replied. "You want me to leave or not? Stop being so indecisive..." He turned.

The other boy's attention was no longer on him; something in the stream had caught his eye. Hashirama didn't need to stare at it for long to know exactly what it was. He forgot that he'd been leaving and darted halfway across the stream to the body, focusing his chakra underneath the soles of his feet. The corpse was barely beginning to rot, though drifting through the water hadn't done it any favors. Hashirama tried to hold his breath and to not look too hard at the face.

"You're... a shinobi?" the other boy asked from the bank.

Hashirama was too distracted by the arrival of the corpse to reply properly. He sighed. "So the war's finally reached these lands…" He knelt down to look for something to indicate the dead shinobi's identity. A symbol on the man's armor revealed that he was of the Hagaromo clan. He'd been Hashirama's clan's enemy. "It's best if you head home," Hashirama said to the boy on the riverbank without looking up. His mood had changed completely; being with the other boy no longer felt like a much-needed distraction from his worries and duties. "I should probably leave as well." He hopped across to the other side of the river opposite the boy, who hadn't moved. "Later."

Before he could vanish into the trees, he heard the other boy. "Um..."

Hashirama turned to face him.

"I'm Madara..." He paused. "Not giving your surname to a stranger is basic code of conduct for a shinobi..."

As Hashirama had assumed, Madara had known immediately. He laughed. "Heh, I figured you were one too."

He took a last look at Madara before running back through the forest. He was left with a sensation that he was going to see him again, as unlikely as it was. There was something alike to Hashirama about him, though he couldn't tell what.

* * *

Hashirama knew that his father would wonder where he had been. He began to plan his lie on his way to the Senju campsite. It couldn't be too elaborate, but he had to say enough to make it believable. On some instinctive level he felt that he could not let anyone know about Madara, as though the short afternoon he'd spent with him was a secret that he could never share. Moreover, he knew that the risk that he was from an enemy clan was huge. He knew, logically, that it was unlikely that he'd ever get the chance to speak to Madara again—off the battlefield, at least—yet some part of his mind warned him not to tell anyone, just in case. Just in case he saw him again, or just in case he'd made some enormous mistake in trying to befriend him instead of trying to figure out which clan he was from.

He waved at some of his clansmen who were guarding the campsite as he made his way to the tents.

"Hashirama!" Itama exclaimed excitedly, approaching him on sight. Kawarama was behind him. "Where were you today? I missed training with you… Training with Tobi is good too but he gets mean after a while…" Itama's nose wrinkled.

"I was checking out some trails," he said, thinking quickly. "Remember? Those trails we were talking about earlier this week?" It was only partly a lie; he'd been exploring the trails before he'd returned to the creek. He'd been to that creek before. He reached down to ruffle Itama's hair with one hand and Kawarama's with the other. The wound on Kawarama's cheek was hidden by clean gauze, but Hashirama still felt a twinge of shock. His brother's wounds still surprised him each time he saw them, despite Kawarama's assurances that he didn't mind that he was going to have a scar.

"Did you find anything interesting?" asked Kawarama.

"Not really. I guess it's really pretty by the river. Not that that's important. I did see a body, though, floating down the river. From the Hagaromo clan. I saw the crest on the armor. I didn't know that the Hagaromo came this close to us." Hashirama frowned. He had tried to avoid thinking about the dead shinobi on his way home, though in recent weeks he'd seen corpses nearly every day.

"They attacked us three days ago," commented his father from behind him, taking him by surprise. "That must have been when that man was killed. There are rumors of them associating with the Uchiha," he added.

Uchiha. Hashirama remembered Madara and compared his face in his mind to the Uchiha he'd seen in battle. His pale skin and choppy black hair did seem common among the Uchiha, though he obviously couldn't be sure. Plenty of people, even Senju, had those features. He quenched the train of thought immediately; it was silly to assume someone's clan just because of things like hair color.

"Father, what did the scouts report today?" Hashirama asked.

"Same as yesterday. We lost a few soldiers, though we took out more of theirs." His father said this as naturally as he might have if Hashirama had asked about the weather. He knew that his father understood the impact of the losses of their clansmen as anyone, but his seeming detachment still made Hashirama feel strange. He wondered if he had known any of the shinobi who'd been killed.

"Who?" he asked, fearful of what he was going to hear.

Hashirama was somehow relieved when he realized that he didn't personally know two of the dead shinobi, though the third had been his second-cousin. He'd played with her when he was younger, though she'd been two years older than him. He tried not to think about it for very long. With all of the topics that he was trying to avoid in his mind, he could barely remember to think about anything else. Upset, he made his way to his father's tent. "I'll be back for supper," he said to his father and brothers.

Tobirama was sitting on the floor on top of his blankets when he entered, cleaning his weapons meticulously. "Hey," he said.

Hashirama kicked his sandals off, sat down on his own bedroll next to Tobirama's, and let his head flop down onto his pillow.

"I said hi," Tobirama reminded.

"Hi," Hashirama sighed. "I don't really feel good." He hardly ever felt good these days, though the same was true for everyone else in his clan. Today, though, felt especially terrible.

"Sorry," Tobirama said. He didn't usually have a lot to say when it came to how people felt; he wasn't as perceptive as Kawarama or as outgoing as Itama. "I'll spar with you after we eat, if you want."

"Sure…" Hashirama replied. "I was going to take a short nap now. Can you wake me when it's time to eat?" He had been awake since before dawn after sleeping poorly.

"Sure." Tobirama returned his knives to their sheathes and got up. "Bye."

Hashirama didn't resent his brother's company, but in that moment he was grateful to be alone. It was too hot for blankets, so he took off his vest, curled up, and tried to sleep a little.


	2. Little Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is...Time for dead children...

Hashirama heaved again over the dirt. He'd already vomited, but his body couldn't shake off the sensation that there was something horribly wrong, not with merely his stomach but with _everything._ And there was. Kawarama was dead.

The scars on his face hadn't even finished healing before he'd been killed. They had left angry pink lines across his cheek. He'd looked at them every day with their mother's little mirror, the one that Hashirama always kept in his bag. And every day, he'd reassured his brothers that he didn't mind that he was going to have them on his face for the rest of his life. "Girls think scars are cool, right?" he'd asked.

"You're only seven." Hashirama had told him, laughing a little. "You don't need to think about that yet."

"I'm almost eight, you know," Kawarama had replied, as though turning eight was an enormous milestone.

Hashirama felt hot tears welling up in his eyes again, making his vision blur. His face felt like it was burning. He heaved again, though this time it was with sobs. Tobirama, Itama, and his father didn't know where he was; he'd run away as soon as they had returned from the battle with Kawarama's body. He was sitting on the edge of his favorite riverbank, not caring that his clothes were getting muddy. They were already caked with blood, though most of it wasn't his; the cut on his arm wasn't bleeding much anymore. He dunked his hands into the water and splashed his face, then laid down on the riverbank. He didn't even care what happened to him next. He stayed there for a long time; the sun was beginning to set when he eventually made his way back to the camp.

Itama hadn't stopped crying since they'd returned, if Tobirama was to be believed. Tobirama looked like he'd been crying too, though besides his puffy, red eyes, he seemed mostly composed. Of course. Since Hashirama had left, he'd considered it his duty to be the responsible sibling. To set an example for his younger brothers. Well, younger _brother_ , now. He wondered if Tobirama was angry at him, or if he'd understood that Hashirama couldn't bear to be anywhere around his family for a few short hours. At least he hadn't said anything. Maybe he'd be angry later.

Hashirama pulled Itama into his arms and sat with him in the tent. Itama was even younger than Kawarama, and Hashirama forgot that all the time. He was usually so strong, stronger than he should have had to be. Hashirama wordlessly held him to his chest and ran his fingers through his brother's hair. The last time he'd held Itama like this had been when Mother had died, though Itama had been too young to remember their mother. Hashirama began to cry again. His throat was sore from the lump in it from crying. He and Itama stayed like that until Itama fell asleep in his eyes. Hashirama laid down, arms still around him, and waited till morning. He didn't sleep at all.

* * *

Hashirama didn't know how the next day was somehow worse than the one before it. Kawarama's body and the bodies of the other Senju who'd died that day were placed in the ground. Kawarama's body had been mangled beyond recognition, though Hashirama had forced himself to look at it.

Itama began to cry again. Their father didn't even turn his eyes away from the graves to look at him. Hashirama wanted to comfort Itama, but he knew that his father would be angry if he did. Not that that would be so terrible. Hashirama thought about doing a lot of things that made his father angry.

"Shinobi do not shed tears," said his father. "Our purpose in life is to die on the field of battle."

_Kawarama didn't even get to have a life,_ Hashirama thought angrily.

"Just be thankful that a portion of his corpse was retrieved!" his father added angrily. "It seems as though the Uchiha have joined the Hagaromo in opposing us. Those savages are heartless…"

It was Kawarama's funeral and his father was talking about alliances. Hashirama couldn't hold back his anger. "He was only seven!" he shouted, trying to keep tears from welling up in his eyes again. "How much longer must this war drag on?!"

"It ends when one side has been completely eradicated," replied his father, not angry at his outburst yet. "Death and war will pave the way for peace."

Hashirama felt his face burn. "Even if that means doing so with the blood of innocent children?"

His father wasn't going to let that slide. His fist connected with Hashirama's cheek barely after he'd finished speaking. Hashirama grunted in pain and gritted his teeth, pulling away. He didn't feel anything crack, but he knew he'd have bruises for days.

" _You dare spit on Kawarama's sacrifice?!"_ his father screamed. " _He lived up to his name as a shinobi and died a proud warrior!"_ He paused. " _There was nothing innocent about him!"_

_Yeah, because even children aren't allowed to remain innocent with a war like this,_ Hashirama though angrily. He didn't speak, though. His father turned away from him as if to walk away from them.

Itama had stopped crying. "Are you okay, Hashirama?" he asked.

The lump in Hashirama's throat wouldn't let him reply.

"You know what happens when you mouth off to Father," Tobirama accused.

Hashirama feared for a moment that their father would strike Tobirama too.

He was filled with a sudden surge of pride and love for his brothers. He couldn't let them die hollow deaths like Kawarama's, deaths for a war that they'd been born into instead of choosing. For all their talk of being soldiers, he knew that they were nothing but children. They deserved to be children.

"All those empty words about the Senju clan being the embodiment of love and passion are complete crap!" he shouted. "Is this what it really means to live the life of a shinobi!?" He couldn't control his anger now. "It's all crap for adults to brainwash us kids." He paused. "You called them savages, but we're doing the exact thing to all the Uchihas!" He knew it to be true. He knew that in this moment, there had to be another kid his age mourning a sibling that died too quickly, another father who'd lost a son.

"What we're doing…" his father began, "is simply being respectful." Hashirama repressed the sudden impulse to roll his eyes. He'd never had such a thought of insubordination toward his father before. "Once you set foot on the battlefield, regardless of age you will be treated accordingly."

_Yeah, because you need kids to fight for you,_ Hashirama thought. _Because so many have died that in order to keep fighting, you need to make children into soldiers without letting us grow up._

"Raising our children into capable shinobi," his father continued, "is the most sincere form of love a parent can give!"

Hashirama's face felt even hotter. " _So the only way to LIVE as a true shinobi is to die?!"_ he shouted. " _It's a never-ending cycle of death and no one here can even explain why it has to be that way! We have to hide our surnames for fear of retaliation!" H_ e remembered the exact moment he'd known Madara knew he was a shinobi but had said nothing in order to maintain the illusion that they could be normal children for a few short moments. " _This ideal of shinobi you've built in your head is twisted and wrong!"_

" _I will not stand here and be lectured by some little boy!"_ His father stepped toward him. Hashirama could feel his heart pounding.

Tobirama jumped in front of him and Itama, arms outstretched. It wasn't the first time that his had happened.

"Father, Hashirama is simply overwhelmed by his emotions!" he exclaimed quickly. "Please, forgive him…"

As if Tobirama's actions had suddenly reminded him that he was at his child's funeral, their father seemed to calm down. He slowed and folded his hands in front of him

"You must choose your words more wisely, Hashirama…" he said eventually. Hashirama stared. He couldn't say anything else; he couldn't think of anything to say. His father finally turned once more and left for his tent.

* * *

Hashirama was back by the stream. He'd already cried, but right now, there were no tears, at least not in that moment. Itama was dead, he knew, but his mind did not accept it. The child with the blades in his chest wore Itama's blood-drenched armor and his face, but that couldn't be him. Hashirama was going to wake up the next morning, and Itama was going to smile at him and say _good morning!_ and Hashirama was going to tell him what a terrible dream he had, a dream he'd had many times before. This was just another dream. He hadn't held Itama's still-warm body and shaken with sobs as soon as he'd realized that the Uchiha Itama had been fighting were no longer able to kill him too. Hashirama felt the beginning of a little sob in the back of his throat.

He heard the crunch of sandals on the pebbles behind him. He hadn't sensed a presence before, but he knew he was distracted. But the presence was oddly familiar, and he realized that the approaching footsteps behind him belonged to Madara.

"Yo…long time no see…" He sounded the same as the day they'd met. "Um…"

Hashirama waited a moment before speaking to try and work his way around the lump in his throat. "It's Hashirama."

"Man…sulking before I even show up… What's up?"

Hashirama paused again. "Mind if I ask you someth—…oh, never mind…" The lump in his throat was choking him.

"No need to be shy…I'm all ears," Madara said, sounding a little bit kind.

"Don't worry about me," Hashirama mumbled.

"Come on, just spit it out already…" A tinge of irritation was beginning to develop in Madara's voice.

"It's nothing…" The lump made his voice come out stilted.

"We'll be here all day if you keep refusing. You might as well—"

"Don't worry about it," Hashirama cut in. His voice cracked as the lump got bigger. "It's really nothing." He felt hot tears sting his eyes.

"Screw you! I'm trying to be considerate and understanding here! So hurry up and spill your guts to me!"

If Hashirama hadn't felt so absolutely horrible, the concern in Madara's angry screams would have made him laugh.

What could telling Madara hurt? He clearly wanted to listen. If Hashirama told him, he'd stop yelling. And really, he wanted Madara to know…

"My little brother…he was killed."

Hashirama didn't see Madara's eyes widen behind him, but Hashirama knew that Madara must have been surprised; he didn't say anything. Hashirama reached up and wiped the tears off of his face, not minding the way that his hands scratched against his eyes when he rubbed at them.

"I always come here when I feel like this…" he began. "All of these emotions bottled up inside of me… I feel like the flow of the current can wash them all away… Madara, right?" Hashirama tried to make it seem like he hadn't thought about Madara for days after meeting him for the first time. "It's the same for you, isn't it?"

Madara said nothing, but Hashirama knew that his silence was assent; if Hashirama'd been wrong, Madara would have denied it immediately.

"You have any siblings?" he asked carefully.

"I have four brothers."

Hashirama somehow felt as if he'd known this already. Perhaps not the number or the gender of Madara's siblings, but he'd sensed something similar about him. He heard Madara's clothing rustle behind him and turned. In Madara's hand was a stone he had plucked up from the ground.

"Or, well, I had four brothers…"

Hashirama's eyes widened.

"That's what it means to be a shinobi," continued Madara. "Death is always knocking on our door…" He walked closer to the stream and Hashirama could sense a tension to his movements that had not been there moments before. "From what I can tell, the only way we can avoid that is to be upfront and honest with the other side…Maybe even…oh, I don't know…Form an alliance with them…" Madara paused to bring his hand back, getting ready to throw the stone he'd picked up. "But that's just wishful thinking. Because we're all too proud to allow ourselves to be that vulnerable."

Hashirama was vulnerable in that moment. He'd never felt so vulnerable in his life, hearing this boy who he knew was likely from an enemy clan telling him things he'd already figured out for himself, things that would get him beaten if he'd said them within earshot of his father. The odd sense of kinship with Madara that he'd felt months ago swelled in his chest as Madara told him things he himself was too terrified to say aloud to anyone but his brothers.

"I mean, who knows…Maybe they don't hate you as much as you think…" Madara didn't hate him, that was what Hashirama knew he was saying. As long as Madara and Hashirama could pretend that they weren't enemies like they knew deep down that they were supposed to be, they couldn't hate each other. There was no desire to. The instinct wasn't there.

"Do you really think we'll _never_ be able to be upfront and honest with the other side?" Hashirama asked?

Madara's stone skipped its way across, leaving little ripples and dimples in the surface of the creek, eventually making one last bounce onto the opposite bank of the river.

"Beats me. But every time I come here," Madara conceded, "I hope that someone'll find a way." He looked with some pride at the spot across the river where the rock had landed. "Hey, looks like this time I got one over. Now you're not the only one who got to the other side."

Hashirama rose to his feet, trying to stay steady even though his legs felt weak. He had been right to feel that unshakable sense of kinship with Madara. Nobody before Madara, perhaps not even his own younger brothers, had really understood his thoughts. Certainly, nobody had fully agreed with them. He was struck with the realization that if he didn't saw Madara again after this, he'd feel empty and disappointed and _wrong._ Someone else felt like him, saw the world the same way. He'd never felt less alone in his life as he stood on the riverbank with a boy whose full name he didn't even know. He felt Madara's eyes on him and suddenly felt self-conscious.

"I can read you like an open book, you know."

"What?" He wondered if Madara was feeling the same strange connection, the sensation that someone else in the world was like him.

"You have no sense of style," Madara began. "Look at that haircut…and those clothes…You don't get out much, do you?"

Hashirama felt his face fall. Maybe they weren't so alike after all. "I'm so sorry…" he replied. "Maybe you're right…Maybe I need a haircut…or even a whole new wardrobe. Maybe it really is time for a change. My personality is bad, too, isn't it…Maybe I'm just not—"

"You didn't have to take it so personally! Hey!"

"I'm doomed to be unstylish forever, aren't I…?"

"No, no, you don't have to worry about it! If there weren't people like you out there, I wouldn't look good in comparison!"

" _Hey!"_ Hashirama's spine cracked back into an upright position as he balled his hand up into a fist. Madara dodged his punch, just like Hashirama had expected he would.

Fifteen minutes later, they were both sweating in the afternoon sun.

"You couldn't beat me," Hashirama said with satisfaction. "Maybe I make up for my lack of style with my superior strength."

"I was going easy on you because I felt bad," Madara retorted. "Next time you're a goner."

Hashirama had thrown off two layers of his clothes and tossed them onto the pebbles. Hiking up his pants (which, he realized in that moment, did seem to be made up of considerably more material than was strictly necessary), he climbed into the river and splashed at his face. Madara followed behind him and did the same. His messy hair plastered itself to his face.

"Liar. I'm gonna beat you next time, too. You won't even know what hit you." Hashirama crossed his arms and considered initiating another match right there in the water, but it would have felt wrong. He felt his body relaxing itself; the adrenaline rush of sparring was fading. He suddenly felt very empty and weak. Guilty, too; how could he be enjoying himself with a boy he barely knew when Itama had died mere hours ago?

"I think I should go soon," Hashirama said.

"Chickening out from our rematch? You're scared I'm gonna win, huh?"

"No…My father and brothers—brother—will be wondering where I am."

Hashirama's mistake had seemingly reminded Madara of why Hashirama had come to the stream in the first place, and his voice was sympathetic. "Ah, I get it. We can do that next time if you've got to go. I'm…I'm really sorry about your brother. I…know how you feel."

Hashirama managed a small, weak smile. "Thanks…" He paused. "Thank you for…well, for being here with me today." He didn't speak as he climbed out of the river, trying to towel his legs off with the fabric of his pants (perhaps they did have a use). "I hope I see you again, Madara."

"I hope I see you again, too, Hashirama." Madara waved at him from the water as Hashirama stepped into the forest. "Wait!" he exclaimed.

Hashirama heard him and turned. "Huh?"

"We don't have to hope…" Madara began. "We can decide to see each other again, if you want. We can pick a time and both come here. If you want to. Only if you want to," he added.

To tell a shinobi from an unknown clan where he would be was taking an enormous risk, Hashirama knew. And yet, the faint but definite sense of kinship he'd felt before with Madara told him that perhaps it was worth it if he could see Madara again.

"I think…I think I'd like that."

"How soon do you want to come back?"

Hashirama mentally reviewed his schedule, searching for a couple of hours that he hoped weren't already taken up by training or fighting. Not that it was predictable.

"In three days, a little past noon?"

Madara thought it over. "Yeah, I'll be there if I can." He smiled. "Okay, you should go now. Don't worry your family."

Hashirama smiled nervously and made his way back through the trees. He still felt terrible, but he felt a tiny bit of hope somewhere in the back of his mind, hope he hadn't had since before he'd understood what war was.


	3. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one...The first little bit of this chapter feels like it didn't go with the rest but I wasn't really sure what to do with it because the chapter before it felt complete...oh well.

Itama's burial the next day was as agonizingly slow as Kawarama's, though it was quieter. Hashirama and Tobirama had already cried the night before, and Hashirama's stomach felt like a churning, bottomless pit even though his eyes were mostly dry. Once Itama was in the ground, Hashirama turned to Tobirama.

"I said I was going to protect him and I couldn't. I lied." Again, speaking around the lump in his throat made him feel like he was choking.

"It wasn't your fault, Hashirama. Isn't that what you were saying the other day? That children dying was the fault of the adults who start the wars?"

"I know…But I still should have been able to protect him."

"You can't blame yourself for this, Hashirama.

"Yeah…but I guess I don't know how not to." Tears began to sting at his eyes again. Tobirama reached forward, put his arm on Hashirama's shoulder, and pulled him into a hug. It was uncharacteristic of him, and Hashirama felt for a second as though it was Itama holding him. He and Hashirama had always been the affectionate ones. With another pang of guilt, he realized that perhaps this was what Tobirama had intended, his way of trying to fill in the enormous hole where Itama had been.

* * *

"Izuna, I'm leaving for a little while. If Dad wants to know where I am, I'm training alone," Madara whispered as he took off his dark, high-collared shirt and put on one that less obviously marked him as an Uchiha.

Itama squinted suspiciously at him. " _Are_ you going to be training alone?"

Madara smiled blankly for a moment or two. "Maybe."

"You can't just say _maybe_ every time you don't want to tell me the truth but don't want me to accuse you of lying to you!"

Madara cringed. Izuna knew him too well.

"I'm not lying," he said. It was true; he could never be sure if Hashirama would show up, and if he didn't, he'd train alone.

"Exactly." Izuna grabbed one of Madara's sandals before he could put it on and held it out of Madara's reach. Madara scowled without even bothering to try to take it back.

"Yeah, but I don't know if I'm gonna be training alone."

"Who would you even train with?"

Madara thought quickly. "Some cousins," he said. Who else could he be training with without breaking any rules?

Izuna pondered this response, and Madara could tell that he didn't believe him. Honestly, he didn't blame Izuna; it was a crappy lie.

"Fine," he said finally. "If you don't want to tell me this bad, there's probably a good reason."

Madara said nothing, wanting neither to further incriminate himself nor to lie any more.

"But please be safe," Izuna continued. "Don't do anything too stupid. I know you're probably just going off to hang out with some girl or something…but don't get yourself in trouble.

"I won't, I promise." Madara wondered how much of a lie that was to say. He was struck with a sudden and unexpected impulse to correct Izuna's hypothesis but stifled it immediately; it was probably better if Izuna assumed he was having some kind of secret tryst with a girl. He did feel a little twinge of guilt for letting Izuna think he was right, though.

"All right…If Dad asks, you're training alone."

"Thanks!" Madara grinned at him and reached for the sandal so quickly that Izuna didn't have time to react. He slid his foot into it and walked out into the trees. He felt Izuna's eyes on him as he left the Uchiha campsite, though he was reasonably sure that nobody else had seen him leave.

The water of the stream felt good on his skin as he splashed his face with it. He knew it was past noon; the sun was no longer at the middle of the sky, though the heat of midday was making him sweat.

Hashirama wasn't there yet, but Madara could wait a little longer. He grabbed a stone from the bank and threw it. It bounced the whole way across on the first try. He grabbed another and missed. The third one missed, too.

He counted how many reached the other side and how many missed (Thirteen made it across, twenty didn't) as he waited for Hashirama. He knew that there were a million reasons why Hashirama might not show up, but he told himself that it just wouldn't be right to leave. What if Hashirama arrived as soon as he left?

He threw more rocks, and then Hashirama arrived.

"Hey! Madara!" He waved.

Madara turned around. "Hashirama! I was going to leave if you took any longer. I got fifteen rocks across while I waited."

"That's not even that many," replied Hashirama as he walked over to the bank where Madara stood. "And sorry for being late…Father wanted me to train extra. I'm already tired…" Hashirama looked like he was going to wilt.

"I waited all this time for you and you don't even want to fight me?" Madara turned to look him in the eyes.

"I never said _that_!" Hashirama smiled at him. Madara noticed that he had dimples and that one side of his mouth turned up a little higher than the other. It was a nice smile, the kind of smile that made Madara want to smile too. He did.

"Hey, do you feel any better now?" Madara asked.

"What, do you think seeing you would make me feel less tired or something? That your presence is…invigorating or something?"

"'Invigorating' is too big of a word for you to use. And I meant better than…better than you felt three days ago."

"Oh," replied Hashirama, understanding. "…I don't really know."

Madara suddenly felt bad for bringing up Hashirama's brother. He probably didn't want to think about it, after all. It had only been three days. It was stupid to think that so little time would make him feel better about losing his brother. It certainly hadn't helped Madara feel any better after he'd lost his younger brothers. "Sorry for saying anything."

"No, don't feel bad…I appreciate it." Hashirama was still smiling a little, and Madara felt at ease.

"So," Madara said after a pause, "are you going to fight me or what?"

Before he could finish the sentence, Hashirama had darted forward and aimed a kick at his waist. He wasn't wearing the big pleated pants he'd had the last time, or the long sleeveless jacket. Madara wondered if Hashirama had simply forsaken them because they might have indicated his clan or if he was following Madara's fashion advice. Hashirama was weird enough that it could have been either. Madara dodged the kick but wasn't quick enough to avoid the fist to his chest. He swerved to the side and kicked at Hashirama's waist and was blocked by Hashirama's leg, which had moved seemingly reflexively. Off-balance, Madara reached forward to grab Hashirama's jacket and pull him down. Instead of falling forward, Hashirama grabbed his arm and twisted it to the side. Madara raised his leg instinctively to forced Hashirama's arm away.

Even tired from hours of training, Hashirama could defend himself against Madara almost perfectly; Madara was avoiding most of Hashirama's kicks and punches, but some of them were still hitting, and it was taking him all of his concentration to avoid being knocked into the river or to the ground. He got in a pretty good shove, but it didn't force Hashirama to the ground. Finally, Madara got a punch in—and so did Hashirama. He felt his vision flicker momentarily as Hashirama's fist collided with his jaw and forced his head back. The force of the punch threw him back a yard, and he fell to the ground with an unceremonious _thud._

Hashirama had not met the same fate; he'd staggered back, but he was still standing several feet away.

"Your martial arts and grappling skills are solid," Madara complimented, repressing his body's urge to reach up and rub his throbbing jaw. "I'd say they were about on par with mine." He'd heard his teeth click as they'd been smashed into each other; thankfully, he hadn't bitten his tongue.

"On par?" Hashirama asked incredulously. "Who's the one eating dirt?"

Madara laughed and threw a stone too quickly for Hashirama to dodge it. He yelped in surprise and fell back to the ground. Madara noted with satisfaction that the force of the rock hadn't knocked him down; he'd barely been able to stand after Madara's punch, and the rock had been the final straw.

"That's what you get for opening that big mouth!" Madara yelled. He obeyed the screaming of the nerves in his back and didn't get up for another half-minute. The rocks of the riverbank were digging into his back, but it could have been worse. The sun wasn't as terribly intense as it had been earlier, and the sounds of the river were soothing.

Eventually, he dragged himself up and walked over to Hashirama, who seemed to have given up on ever standing again. "Are you going to get up?"

Hashirama stared up at him blankly. "Nah."

"Are you going to just stay there forever?"

"…Yeah."

Madara bent down and grabbed Hashirama's sweaty, dirty hand and dragged him up. Hashirama remained floppy and lifeless for a few seconds before complying and getting up. They both grabbed their canteens from by one of the big boulders. Hashirama climbed up the side of the rock and sat squarely in the middle of its highest point. Madara darted up after him and sat next to him. Hashirama lazily allowed himself to be pushed firmly away from the center of the rock so that Madara could sit opposite him. The water from his canteen was warm from sitting in the sun, but he drank it anyway.

"So," Hashirama began as Madara sipped, "the way I see it, permanent, lasting change is the key."

Madara didn't even blink, though he was curiously aware of the fact that he was probably one of the only people who would have this reaction to Hashirama suddenly speaking about his visions. He gulped down a last mouthful of water before speaking.

"You start by never wavering and always being firm in your convictions." This part was something he'd always been taught as a child (even if his particular convictions were frowned upon). "Then you attain unmatched strength and power…Nobody's going to follow a weakling." It was the same thing shinobi were supposed to do within their clans if they wanted to rise in rank. Maybe the entire world of shinobi could function like that.

Hashirama put down his canteen. "Good point. We'll just keep mastering jutsu on top of jutsu. Then it'll reach a point where even the adults won't be able to ignore us anymore."

Madara got up. He had to pee. "We start by focusing our training on our glaring weak points…Although when I think about it, I don't really think I have any…" He hopped off the edge of the rock and over to the river and began to urinate. He could sense Hashirama's presence behind him and imagined Hashirama's eyes boring holes into his back, rendering him unable to continue pissing.

"Wow, you really can't pee with someone—" Hashirama's voice was both amused and surprised.

"I _told_ you! I'm _really_ sensitive to my surroundings!" Madara snapped.

"I guess you do have a weakness, then…"

"Stop talking! Say another word, and I'll throw you into the river where I pissed!"

They fought once again, and it ended much like the first fight of the day. Lying on the riverbank, Madara looked up at the sky. His back hurt pretty bad, and he felt the stinging throb of a fresh bruise forming on his jaw. His fist was sore where it had made contact with Hashirama's predictably hard, thick skull. Madara turned his head to look around. Hashirama was in the same position a few feet away from him. He caught his eye. He hadn't felt as happy in ages as he felt on that sweaty summer day, lying on hard ground with dirt on his clothes and in his hair and with a smile on his sore, contented face.


	4. Pangs of Adolescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I probably won't finish this fic but there's another chapter or two that I've written but haven't posted. Warning for talking about underaged drinking this chapter.

When Hashirama was training with Tobirama, he was thinking about training with Madara. Tobirama was a bit faster than Madara, but not quite as flexible or with the same blunt strength. Madara’s first instinct was always to attack while Tobirama’s was to defend. Hashirama had even picked up some of Madara’s tics and habits, aiming for the side he didn’t used to aim for or changing the angles of his punches.

“That was a new one,” panted Tobirama after dodging a particularly spirited kick to the ribs. “You don’t usually go for crescent kicks.”

“I’ve been…working on new stuff, I guess,” Hashirama replied, faking another kick and following it with a hand to the shoulder and a sweep of his foot behind Tobirama’s ankles. Tobirama fell for it but tumbled to the ground in a perfect fall, protecting his head carefully. If Tobirama was going to be knocked over, he would always do it properly. He was back on his feet before Hashirama could pause to help him up.

“All by yourself?”  
  
“Yeah,” Hashirama replied too quickly. He wondered what Madara would say if he caught Hashirama taking all of the credit for the products of their training. Tobirama squinted at him for a moment, and Hashirama wondered what conclusions he was drawing from Hashirama’s admittedly somewhat suspicious behavior.

“Sure,” said Tobirama, probably not convinced. Hashirama knew that Tobirama didn’t really have enough evidence to know what was going on, but unfortunately must have realized that _something_ that he wasn’t entirely aware of was happening. Hashirama had been disappearing too often for Tobirama not to notice _something_ ; he was a perceptive kid.

Hopefully Tobirama would come to the same conclusion that tended to be arrived at whenever a kid Hashirama’s age started sneaking around: that he was sneaking off to be with a girl. Such things hovered in the vague space between generally accepted and frowned-upon; they could lead to a marriage (and, of course, to children) or to distraction and petty drama. As a child, Hashirama had always vaguely assumed that he’d grow up and have a couple of girlfriends like that, though in practice he’d never really found a girl who made him want to sneak around with her. He wondered briefly if he was going to meet one in the foreseeable future or if he could make it through the next few years undistracted by the throes of young love.

“You need to attack instead of just defending,” Hashirama instructed. “You worry so much about protecting yourself that you don’t get to your opponent fast enough; you let them try and beat you for so long that they figure out just how you think. You have to try and end things sooner. Decisively.” Hashirama liked explaining things; he loved knowing that he could make other people understand him and be better off for it. Tobirama’s hesitance to take risks in battle had helped him survive for this long, but Hashirama worried about him. There was such a thing as being too cautious.

Tobirama mulled it over. “I think you’re right. I draw things out for too long. Can we spar again?”  


“Try and beat me for real this time.”  


Tobirama raised his fists. “Of course.”

Hashirama smiled and threw the first punch.

* * *

 

Madara was waiting for him the next morning, lying on the ground of the riverbank with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes half-closed in contentment. The sun had barely begun to make the day warm, and the haze of morning fog had not yet dissipated. Hashirama watched Madara pull a stone from his jacket and prepare to throw it across and did the same with the rock he’d tucked into his belt. The rocks bounced across gently and they both managed to catch them. Without even waiting for Hashirama to make his way across, Madara returned to his previous reclining position.

“Am I late or are you early?” asked Hashirama once he’d run over the river.

“I’m probably early but I’d rather say that you’re late.”  


“I knew you’d say that.” Hashirama walked closer to Madara until he was standing over his head and looked down. “What do you want to do?”  
  
Madara looked up at him lazily. “Absolutely nothing.” There was a pause. “You’re terrifying from this angle. I can see right up your nose. I mean, you’re always kind of weird-looking but this is in a league of its own.”  
  
Hashirama laughed and sat, knowing that a month or two ago Madara’s comment would have sent him into a little spiral of mild self-doubt. Now it just made him giggle a little. “Is this any better?”

“You’ve moved from ‘terrifying’ to ‘almost easy on the eyes’.”

Hashirama hadn’t expected that Madara would even come close to complimenting him. “If that were coming from anyone else, I’d be disappointed that I’m only ‘almost’ but since it’s you, that’s pretty high praise.”

Madara said nothing and smiled, perhaps wanting to neither ruin the moment or to allow Hashirama’s ego to swell (too late for that).

“Do you really want to do nothing today?”

“No, I guess I could maybe be bothered to do something.” Madara yawned and explained, “I only slept a little; I was up late because of an…honestly unimpressive battle and then I woke up early.” He squinted pointedly. “To be here.” Pointed pause. “With you.”

“I’m honored,” answered Hashirama, trying to make himself sound like he was kidding but sort of meaning it a little deeper down. “Do you want to work on taijutsu? Or come up with new jutsus?”

“I’ve had some ideas,” Madara said, sitting up quickly. “We can try them.”

“Ooh, me too! Tell me your ideas.” Hashirama’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Sure. I bet mine are going to be better than yours.”

The challenge made Hashirama feel competitive too. “Don’t be so quick to say that. My ideas were pretty good.”  


Madara grinned and began. “Well, it starts off as taijutsu but then you incorporate this really cool bit of genjutsu to throw your opponent off. Like a surprise attack. It’s _really_ cool, I promise…"

* * *

 

Two hours later, Hashirama and Madara were on the ground where they’d started off. Madara was attempting unsuccessfully to drink from his canteen while lying down. Hashirama had been smart enough to just drink all of it before choosing to lie down.

“So like,” Madara began. “We’re obviously going to get strong enough to actually get things done soon, right?” He paused to lift the bottle over his face and tilted it gently. Water dribbled down into his mouth and nostrils. He coughed a little and continued. “So how long do you think it’ll be till we can start making people understand?”

“Maybe a couple more years? If we work really hard. I’m pretty strong. One of the strongest in my clan,” Hashirama boasted. He was usually pretty humble, but he was beyond feeling any shame about bragging to Madara. If Madara bragged to him, there was nothing wrong with bragging back.

“Yeah, me too. I’m stronger than most of the adults. They might as well make me an honorary grown-up.”

Hashirama snorted. “Yeah, if they’re gonna make us die on the battlefield, they should probably let us do normal grown-up things. My dad won’t even let me have more than one drink atweddings. I mean, the weddings are all terrible because there’s a war going on, but they’d probably be better if I was allowed to get drunk.”

  
Madara laughed. “You don’t wait for the adults to give you the alcohol at weddings, silly. You steal it and sneak away with the other kids to get drunk without the grown-ups because the grown-ups are a little too drunk to notice.” He sat up for a moment to drain the rest of the canteen into his mouth and gulped it down with satisfaction.

Hashirama was vaguely aware that his cousins did this, but he’d felt like it was his job to be a good role model for Tobirama. Not that Tobirama was particularly interested in that sort of thing. (The truth was simply that Hashirama was, at his core, a wholesome and earnest goody two-shoes.) “I never really do that. I never really had the guts. Plus, I’d usually start arguing with the drunk adults at weddings instead.”

“I can picture that,” Madara replied, laughing again and pausing, eyes closed. “Yeah…I can _definitely_ see it.”

Hashirama stuck his tongue out. “I’ve never been drunk. I always try a little but the taste is kind of weird. I don’t get why people like it.”

“Yeah, some stuff tastes better than others. Being drunk is okay, though. I mean, it’s not _great_ or anything. You’re not missing much. But it’s kind of fun if you’re with people you like. It just feels like everything is…spinning. Gently. And you’re more likely to say stupid stuff.”  
  
“How stupid?” Hashirama asked with genuine curiosity.

“Uh…Let me think. Sometimes you complain about stuff you’re usually too scared to complain about.” He wrinkled his nose at Hashirama. “Not that you have a problem with that when sober. And I guess you’re less scared to try stuff you don’t usually try.”

“Stuff like what?”  
  
“Telling people stuff you’re too embarrassed to say otherwise. Or kissing people.” Madara looked slightly embarrassed.

“Have _you_ ever kissed anyone?” Hashirama looked embarrassed too but couldn’t help but to ask.

Madara blinked. “Yeah.”

“Like, a girl?”

“Two girls. And who else would I kiss?” Madara squinted.

Hashirama shrugged wildly, though he knew he had meant exactly what Madara had thought he had meant. “How was it?”

Madara thought about it for a moment. “It was…okay, I guess. I mean, it didn’t feel like anything. I didn’t like the girls. They were just friends and both times someone just kind of dared us to do it.”

Hashirama felt an inexplicable sense of relief.

“So have you ever…?” Madara asked, predictably.  


Hashirama frowned. “No…I’ve never really gotten a chance to.”

“Eh, it’s okay. Everyone acts like it’s supposed to be this big deal but it didn’t really feel like much. Like I said, I didn’t like the girls like… _that._ It just kind of happened. I guess maybe it’s just good if it’s with someone you…do like?”  


“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Hashirama commented. “So you were saying that getting drunk is only kind of fun if it’s with someone you like, right?” He’d been considering bringing it up since Madara had mentioned it and had weighed the embarrassment of the question against his curiosity

“Why, do you want to? You want to get drunk? With me?” Madara was incredulous.

Hashirama nodded, the embarrassment sinking in.

Madara threw his head back and laughed as Hashirama’s embarrassment grew. “Wow, I’ve really corrupted you! I tell you about my…not-very-wild escapades where I get a little bit tipsy and get dared to kiss my friends and suddenly you want to do it too?”

“Yeah, you’re a bad influence.” Hashirama giggled. “I should never have become friends with you.”  
  
Madara grinned as though flattered. “Okay, so what kind of booze do you want me to bring?”

“Wait, you’re really going to do it?” Hashirama’s eyes widened.

“Well, if I’m going to be a terrible influence, I might as well go the whole way.” He smirked. “Or like, consider it an apology. For corrupting you.”

“Only you would put it like that. Okay, what tastes the best? All the stuff I tried was gross.”  
  
“Plum wine kind of tastes like juice. Like, a little grosser than normal juice. But better than anything else. I’m pretty sure my dad has some of it somewhere.” Madara shook his head. “I can’t believe I’ve gone and corrupted you like this. Absolutely scandalous.”

“Oh, come on, you acted like everyone does this,” Hashirama whined.

“Most of them do. Just…not you. I just couldn’t picture it.”

“So you can picture me arguing with my drunk uncles and cousins but not doing stuff you do?” Hashirama was slightly indignant. Only slightly.  
  
“Yeah, that’s right!” Madara laughed in response.

Hashirama stuck his tongue out again. “Okay, so when will you bring it? When will we see each other again?”

Madara scowled. “Ugh, I think I’m gonna be really busy. But in half a month? Yeah. In the evening. After the sun goes down.”

They had never met any time besides the day before, but they’d always wanted the daylight to aid in training, and running around in the dark was just an extra vulnerability. They weren’t going to be training this time, though. They’d just be talking and drinking.

“Okay, that sounds good,” Hashirama replied. “Anyways, I think I have to go now. I’m supposed to be back at our camp by now.”

He got up from the ground, dusted himself off, and ran across the river. He saw Madara getting up on the other bank and bent down to pick up a rock. He found a very smooth one. Nicer than the others, he thought. He raised the rock so Madara could see it and saw that Madara was looking down to find a rock of his own.

Once Hashirama saw that Madara had a rock, he raised his fingers to count down from three. When he folded down the last fingers, they both threw their stones. They bounced across almost perfectly, bouncing into the hands of the other. It was a silly trick, but one they had perfected over the course of two hours. A pointless endeavor, they knew, but an oddly enjoyable one. The first time they’d thrown the stones, Madara had told Hashirama that the rocks should be thrown every time they met or left each other. There wasn’t a real reason for it, yet they’d been doing it for weeks. Hashirama stuffed the slightly wet rock into his jacket and watched Madara do the same. They’d skip the same stones back the next time they met. As oddly ritualistic as the entire little ceremony was, it was becoming as essential to their meetings as a bow or a handshake. Hashirama added a little wave as he left.

As soon as he was out of earshot, view, and hopefully chakra detection range, Hashirama felt the full impact of the adrenaline from the conversation he’d had moments ago. He laughed breathlessly, barely able to believe himself. Sure, he hadn’t said anything particularly out of the ordinary for a kid his age, but he’d never even been curious about those things before. They had felt forbidden to him: taboo, even though he knew consciously that it was not strange for him to be interested. He regained his breath and a little of his composure and began to run again.

* * *

When Hashirama returned to the Senju campsite, he was tired but not too tired to train more with Tobirama after eating. He had a lot to think about after his day with Madara, but he knew he couldn’t let it distract him during the day. He trained as though nothing had happened, ignoring his thoughts until he was tucked into his bedroll.

First of all, why on earth had he decided to suggest that Madara get drunk with him? _That’s easy,_ he reminded himself. _For the same reason you’re friends with him. You like hanging out with him and also knowing that you’re doing something your father would disapprove of._ He’d never really thought of his meetings with Madara as conscious rebellion toward Butsuma, but heconceded to himself that he definitely wouldn’t have been quite as eager to get wrapped up in a friendship with someone from another clan (which one, he didn’t even know!) if his father hadn’t angered him. That had only been at the beginning, though; Madara had proven himself an excellent friend and rival, and the pull Hashirama felt toward him had come to have less to do with anger at his father than with the merits of Madara’s company and friendship.

And why had he been so curious about who Madara had kissed before? It was an uncomfortable question to ask himself, but he couldn’t deny that he had wondered before if Madara had liked anyone or did romantic things with other people. It wasn’t like it affected him, though. _Because you’ve never done it and you were curious,_ he told himself. It was very obvious if he put it like that. _That doesn’t explain the fact that you felt relieved when he told you he didn’t like it, though_ , some snide, terribly honest portion of the back of his mind reminded him. _And you kind of indirectly asked if he’d kissed a boy before._ He felt his face redden with embarrassment in the dark as he remembered making sure Madara specified what gender he’d been running around kissing. And Madara had caught on! Not that there was much of a chance that he wouldn’t have. Hashirama wanted to clap his hands over his face in embarrassment.

He decided to cautiously acknowledge that the twisting feeling in his stomach when Madara had told him he’d kissed girls was jealousy. _You’re just jealous of the fact that he’s kissed people and you haven’t!_ said the less scandalous, nice, polite part of his brain. _You’re jealous of the people he’s kissed!_ retorted the realistic, logical side.

And if he had been? Hashirama finally let himself think about it. What if there was a reason he’d never really had a crush on a girl? He thought of his father’s younger brother, who’d wanted to be buried next to another man when he’d died, the way that husbands and wives were buried together. Hashirama’d had a vague understanding that “friend” wasn’t really the right word for what the other man had been to his uncle, but he hadn’t said anything. He knew perfectly well that some men liked other men; he even suspected that one of his second-cousins had something going on with another boy. He also had an inkling that one of his mother’s closest friends had been more than that before his mother’s marriage to his father. It was something that happened. It wasn’t strange, just…discouraged, perhaps, depending on position. Hashirama knew it didn’t really matter for most people unless they were expected to have heirs. In that case, they were supposed to “get it out of the way” before settling down “properly.” It was still difficult to acknowledge, though. He was the oldest son. He was supposed to marry some nice girl, either from his own clan or from one with a strong alliance to his own, and have some strong children, who would hopefully carry on the family legacy and honor their clan and their name. It was what he was supposed to do, and he’d never really assumed that his lack of passion toward that fate indicated that maybe it wasn’t something he wanted.

Hashirama decided to try and stop thinking about it and sleep instead. Besides, he hadn’t come up with any solid conclusions, just…potential explanations. And even if he was coming to the realization that _maybe,_ just _maybe,_ he perhaps liked boys in a way that wasn’t entirely, totally platonic, the fact that Madara was the one pushing him to consider this possibility was just too strange to think about for much longer. He turned over in his bedroll until he was closer to Tobirama next to him, curled up, and squeezed his eyes shut until sleep finally freed him from the mess of thoughts in his mind.


End file.
